


Storm and a Teacup

by WorryinglyInnocent



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, F/M, Librarian!Belle, One-Shot, non-magic au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 23:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13775136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorryinglyInnocent/pseuds/WorryinglyInnocent
Summary: Trapped together in Storybrooke library after hours, Belle and Gold get to know each other and discover that they have more in common than they think.Backfilling old Monthly Rumbelling prompts from 2016 that I missed before joining the event. This fills the non-smut prompt for June: Unexpected Rainstorm





	Storm and a Teacup

 

It was absolutely throwing it down with rain, and despite the fact that the weather forecast had said that it would be fine and sunny all day, Belle couldn’t say that she was entirely surprised by the sudden turn in the weather. Storybrooke had always seemed to exist in its own unique weather system and the only way to tell what the sky was going to be doing at any given moment was to look outside and squint at it for a while. Belle had become used to the fact that she had to take a pair of sunglasses and an umbrella with her everywhere she went.

At least she did not have to venture out in the rain tonight. As soon as she had locked up the library, she could disappear up the back stairs into her apartment and curl up with her cat and her books, listening to the rain hammering on the roof and windows and revelling in the knowledge that she was safe and warm and dry.

It was closing time, and Belle was doing her usual walk around the library to check all the patrons had left. It was a Tuesday and never the busiest of days for custom, and most of the visitors had long since checked out their books and left to get home before the dark clouds that had been amassing throughout the afternoon finally broke. Not expecting to see anyone between the stacks, Belle was surprised when she reached the library’s quiet study area. Tucked away in one corner of the reference section were a few old tables and chairs that Belle had found in the storage cupboard and dragged out, so that the library’s visitors could have somewhere to work and study in peace if they wanted. It was not often used, perhaps being so hidden in a rarely used section, people simply didn’t know that it was there. Today though, there was a figure sitting at one of the desks, poring over one of the large reference encyclopaedias and making detailed notes in tiny, spidery handwriting in a leather-bound journal.

Belle would recognise that figure anywhere, and she was once again surprised. Mr Gold rarely came to the library for any length of time. He visited once a month to collect her rent, and would occasionally check out books, but he never lingered, and she had certainly never known him stay until closing time in the reference section. It was clear that he was completely absorbed in his task, and Belle was loathe to disturb his work, so she just watched him from the end of the stack for a little while.

He was and always had been an enigma to her, and Belle loved a good mystery. Although their paths rarely crossed, he would always give her a polite nod of recognition and pass the time of day, even when he was standing at the issue desk counting out the rent money. There was something about him that seemed old-fashioned, out of a bygone era of chivalry that really had no place in the modern world. Perhaps he had been influenced by all the antiques that he kept in his shop. Belle knew that on her salary she would never be able to afford any of the beautiful pieces inside, but that didn’t stop her peering in through the windows and trying to see what was on sale within. Sometimes Gold caught her looking, and in those moments, he just smiled and pretended that she wasn’t standing there with her nose pressed up against his window in wonder. She had never seen him in anything less casual than his three-piece suit and tie, and for an idle moment, she wondered what he would look like in jeans and a t-shirt. The picture simply wouldn’t come; it was impossible to try and imagine him looking like that. It went against every impression that she’d ever had of the man.

She took a few steps closer to him along the stack, but he didn’t seem to register the approach of her clicking high heels, just turning over the page in his reference book and running his long fingers down the paper as he searched for the information he needed. Belle had often found herself mesmerised by his hands when he came into the library. His fingers were long and deft, no doubt an asset in his line of work, and she could watch them for hours. Then again, she could probably watch the rest of him for hours as well. The grey in his dark hair gave him an air of distinguished gravitas, lending itself to a description of maturity rather than advancing age, and his mane looked so soft that she found herself wanting to run her hands through it.

Belle took half a step back in shock. Where had that train of thought come from?

She shook herself back into the present, determining to put all day-dreaming about Gold to one side. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was already fifteen minutes past closing time, and she really ought to be shutting up shop. Steeling herself against any improper thoughts, she strode down the stack with measured, loud steps.

“Mr Gold,” she announced. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but the library is closed now.”

He startled up from his work as if waking from a trance, and looked around at the dimmed lights and the obvious lack of any other visitors in the building.

“Oh, right, yes. I do apologise, Miss French. Time must have got away from me.” He flipped the journal closed and stowed it in the inside pocket of his coat, and hefted the large encyclopaedia up off the desk. Belle took it from him, effortlessly sliding it into its home on the shelf. She saw that it was the specialised history encyclopaedia, and she wondered what he had been looking up. Gathering his cane and scarf, Gold made his way down the stacks and out into the library proper, pausing at the doors when he saw the downpour outside. The rain was coming down with such force that the droplets were bouncing off the road, creating even more spray. Gold grimaced, sighed, and turned the collar of his coat up, and Belle felt a little pang of sympathy. Closing time or not, she really couldn’t send him out into a storm like this without an umbrella, and for the time that it would take her to go upstairs and grab her own from her apartment, he might as well stay in the library for a while until it eased off. The beauty of Storybrooke’s increasingly unpredictable weather was that its highly changeable nature meant that each fluctuation never seemed to last long.

Although, she thought, if Mr Gold did end up getting rained in the library, so to speak, then she really wouldn’t mind.

“Wait,” she called out as he was about to open the door. “I can’t let you go out in that.”

“I can assure you, Miss French, I’ll be quite all right. It’s not far to my shop, and I can wait out the rest of the storm there.”

“You’ll still get drenched,” Belle pointed out. “And I wouldn’t want you to slip on the wet roads.” Although there were many theories around the town as to how the landlord had come by his limp, ranging from the mundane to the outright bizarre, the most unanimously held conception was that it had to do with black ice, which explained why Gold was rarely seen out and about during inclement weather, sending his nigh-on silent assistant Mr Dove to make the rent collection calls during the winter months when there was snow on the ground.

Gold turned back towards her, letting his hand slip from the front door handle.

“Thank you, Miss French.” He smiled. “I appreciate your concern.”

Belle smiled back. “You’re welcome. It doesn’t look like it’s going to ease up within the next few minutes,” she added. “Would you like a cup of tea? It would fortify you for the journey home, if nothing else.”

Gold chuckled, and for a moment, Belle thought that he was going to decline, and decide to take a chance on the rainstorm as it was, but then he moved back across the floor towards the issue desk where she stood.

“Tea would be lovely, Miss French, thank you.”

“Please call me Belle,” she said. “No-one else calls me Miss French. It makes me feel old.”

“Well, since I’m far older than you and have no desire to feel any older than that, please call me Aiden.”

“Aiden.” Belle tried the name out for size, liking the way that it rolled naturally off her tongue. She led the way into her office, checking that there was enough water in the electric kettle and setting about making a pot of tea. Gold eased himself down into a chair at the table, waiting until she had brought the tea tray over before speaking again.

“I can see that we share an appreciation for properly prepared tea,” he said, as Belle let the leaves in the pot steep for a while.

Belle smiled. “Tea’s always been something of an institution in my family,” she explained. “My mother and father would always take the time to make a pot of tea with loose leaves, and I just carried on the tradition. It’s become a ritual for me, I suppose.”

Gold nodded. “I feel the same way. My aunts treated teatime like a ceremony to be observed, and although I didn’t carry over many of their teachings, tea is one thing I’ve always respected.”

From then on, the conversation turned to tea: their favourite blends and flavours, the various different types they had tried, the merits and drawbacks of green teas over black teas… Belle had never yet had such an in depth discussion with anyone about her tea preferences before. Everything was going swimmingly until the rainstorm doubled in intensity and a loud clap of thunder broke overhead, causing them both to jump and startle, and causing Gold to lose his grip on his cup. It landed on the linoleum floor with a crack, and he made a face.

“I’m so sorry.” He scrabbled about under his chair and held up the cup. “It’s chipped.”

Belle shrugged. “It’s just a cup.”

“You said it was your mother’s tea set.”

“It is, but it’s not complete. Various pieces have been lost or damaged since I was a child. That’s just the way of china.”

Gold looked carefully at the cup, turning it round and round in those long fingers of his and running his thumb over the delicate blue and white pattern.

“You know, I think I’ve seen this pattern before,” he said. “I don’t think that it’s in production anymore, but I know a dealer in Boston who specialises in tea sets. He might be able to source your missing pieces. If you’d like, of course.”

Belle grinned. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

“I’ll contact Jefferson first thing in the morning, then.”

The cup rescued and the thunder passed, they continued to talk. If someone had asked Belle what she thought that she would be doing on that particular Tuesday evening, it was not discussing the finer points of tea and antiques with Mr Gold, but she quickly realised that she wouldn’t have it any other way.

 


End file.
